Ties That Bind
by FrozenFragile
Summary: One shots and drabbles from an aspiring author about the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, their intrepid burglar, and his sister. May contain Bagginshield, as well as several other non-canon pairings. Family, friendship, humor, angst, romance, and hurt/comfort in an AU with absolutely no timeline whatsoever. (Rating subject to change.)
1. Nostalgia

A/N: I wrote this in about an hour without any proof reading or a beta, so please feel free to point out any spelling errors or messy bits.

For clarification, Elsa is my OC, Bilbo's sister (yeah, I know. Don't look at me like that) and a fellow companion on the journey. Blonde, curly hair, typical hobbit. This scene is a drabble set some point after the incident at the Carrock but before Mirkwood. The company has stopped in a cave for the night and the halflings have some family feels.

Disclaimer: I do not own nor am I affiliated with J.R.R. Tolkien's work. This piece of writing is purely to satisfy my little fangirl heart and I am making no profit on it. Please don't sue me.

* * *

Bilbo was curled into Elsa's side, soaking up her warmth. She knew that if the cave had been a bit brighter or more of their companions awake he would be leaning casually against the wall several feet away; he was still trying to look brave and worthy of respect from the others, despite already having proved himself many times over. As it was brother and sister were cuddled together in the corner, just enjoying the comfort of each other. Her fingers slipped through his curls languidly and both were nearly asleep when Bilbo murmured something.

"Hmm?" Her mind tried struggled up through a lethargic fog.

"Do you remember the tree," he asked quietly.

Chuckling she muttered, "you'll have to be a bit more specific than that."

"The summer before you and Mira... When Mother was sick and Father sent us out all the time. You know, that big tree we always climbed, the... What kind was it again?" A huge yawn split the last word.

Elsa smiled fondly. "It was a maple tree." He nestled deeper into her and she continued. "Father planted it when he built Bag End for Mama." Hobbits were usually more formal when discussing families. Relatives were called by their given names no matter their age (though the younger halflings didn't take the traditions too seriously), and parents were referred to only as Mother and Father. Intimate things like endearments were kept behind closed doors. It brought Bilbo comfort, however, and she knew he wouldn't mind her saying such things. "He always said that when she accepted his proposal, he was so excited that he bought up the land and began digging their new home in the hill that very morning.

"By noon the sun was beating down on him, and he threw down his shovel in defeat. He was exhausted, hot and hungry, and he said to himself, 'what I wouldn't give for the shade of a tree this very minute.' Mama had brought him lunch and heard Father's complaint, so after a pleasant meal together of scones and tea, chicken and pickles, chips, salad, roast mutton, and rye bread she'd baked herself, she set off to Bree. She was a Took, remember, and gallivanting off for a small adventure was a common enough occurrence for her.

"After a long day's walk through fields and across streams, she arrived in Bree, that travelers' town of men and hobbits just before sunset. Mama found a shrubber's stall just as he was closing up, and bought his last sapling. It was a scrawny thing, barely three inches tall and leafless, but she saw potential in it: the same potential she saw in Father the first day they'd met.

"The journey home was long and tiring. A moonless night had fallen and more than once she stumbled. Tree roots blocked her path, creeks ran faster than ever before, and it seemed like she climbed over every fence in the Shire, but not once did she drop the sapling. Just as the sun rose that morning she trudged up the path to what would soon be Bag End. When Father came back to work he found Mama lying on the hill top, fast asleep. Her dress was torn, mud covered her from head to toe, twigs stuck out every which-way from her hair, and she was cuddling a scraggly baby tree, but Father thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. After he planted the tree in the back run they finished Bag End together, and married that spring.

"I guess Mama chose well, both with Father and with the tree. We played in that maple for years, and Grandmother said she'd never seen Mama so happy. Maybe it was their sign."

She smiled in memory. "You know... You're a lot like her, more than you know. You have her spark. That joy that always twinkled in her eye. She wore her heart on her sleeve just like you, and she got hurt too often. Just like you, you dolt," she murmured affectionately. When only silence greeted one eye cracked open to peek down at him. He was fast asleep and looking for all the world like a young hobbit of twenty again. Warm breath fluttered through his lips to make a light (and adorable, if she was being honest with herself) snore.

"Falling asleep at my stories, hmm? I've still got it." She chuckled quietly and leaned back, quickly joining her little brother in sleep.

* * *

There. A short little cutesy/crappy drabble. Tell me what you think, good or bad!


	2. Secret

A/N: Here's another chapter, this one with some shipping. :)

* * *

The laughter rang across the clearing. Fili and Kili had been regaling Elsa with tales of their adventures in Ered Luin all evening. Or at least, trying to regale her. Between the ale they'd guzzled like water and the lateness of the hour the brothers had gotten quite thoroughly confused- Fili was slurring something about a butcher chasing them through the great hall after some prized pig, while Kili kept interjecting comments about their last escapade into a human market. Though chaotic it was a humorous sight and she found her self laughing freely.

Her own mug of ale sat only half empty beside her; the first swallow of the potent brew nearly knocked her over, and by the third her fingers had begun to tingle curiously. That had been nearly three hours ago, and while the effect had lessened her body still hummed pleasantly.

Finding that the sources of her entertainment had begun whispering incoherently into each other's ears, she turned her eyes to the rest of the group. Balin and Dori were closest to the fire, their wistful smiles indicating they were reminiscing about their childhoods again. Gloin had challenged Dwalin to an arm wrestling match; nearby Bifur stared contemplatively into his drink. Oin sat down beside him and muttered something to which he replied in Khuzdul, and the two dwarves sat together in silence. Bombur was snoring peacefully, sprawled out on his bedroll while Ori sketched the slumbering dwarf. Bofur leaned against his brother, smoking his pipe quietly and watching Fili and Kili in amusement. The two brothers had fallen over at some point and were giggling obnoxiously at Nori. The dwarf in question was strolling into the trees, probably to relieve himself.

That left only Gandalf, Thorin, and Bilbo. Gandalf had disappeared earlier that evening, likely off on his mysterious "wizard business," whatever that was supposed to mean. Thorin too had left earlier. He'd stalked out of the clearing towards the ponies, seemingly in a huff. She snorted to herself at that thought; when wasn't the brooding dwarf annoyed over something? Even the half dozen mugs of ale he'd had before storming off hadn't lifted his mood. Ridiculous, that one was, and she had better things for her alcohol-addled brain to muddle through, like her brother's whereabouts.

Come to think of it, she hadn't seen the other hobbit since she'd first sat down, several hours back. A quick glance around the camp showed he was nowhere to be found, and after a few moments she began to worry.

"Oi, you two," she called, tossing an empty mug at Kili. He'd pushed his brother to the ground and was now sitting on the other's head, not that Fili seemed to mind. He didn't move at all, actually, until the cup she'd thrown bounced off his leg. Kili toppled off of him and the young dwarves stared blankly at her. "Have either of you seen Bilbo?" At this Kili began to giggle again.

"Oh, he's off with Thorin," purred Fili.

"I... see," she replied slowly. "Er, but why is that so funny?"

"You don't know," chuckled the blonde dwarf.

"Know what?"

"It would seem..." Kili began.

"That our esteemed burglar has caught Thorin's eye."

At this Kili fell over, clutching his sides with laughter. "Yes, uncle's eye, and his hands, and his mouth, and his-"

"Don't need to be picturing that, thanks lads," called Bofur quickly from his position a few feet away.

Elsa gaped at the brothers. "So you're saying that my brother and Thorin are... together," she squeaked.

"You'd have to be daft in the head not to notice the way they look at each other."

She sputtered. "I- Well, I knew that Bilbo had... feelings for him, but I didn't realize-"

"That Thorin wanted to get your darling baby brother up against a tree," Kili crowed. She winced and nodded, suddenly watching her ale as if it held all the answers to life.

"My brother and the king, huh? That'll take some getting used to." She smirked. "Good eye, little one," she murmured quietly to herself.

Then a thought hit her and she paled. "What of Thorin's heart? Does he care for Bilbo the way my brother does him? Or will I be needing to kill someone come morning?"

Fili and Kili laughed uproariously, so Bofur was the only one to notice the fire in her eyes. He had no doubt she'd hurt others over her brother before, and that she'd do it again in a heartbeat (even to a king nearly twice her size and three times her heft).

Their leader was saved from what would've almost certainly promised to be a painful wake up at dawn with an axe by Balin's voice floating across the glade. "I've known the young prince since he was but a stripling, and I can tell you truly that I have never seen him look at another the way he looks at our burglar. Master Baggins is safe."

At that the tension melted from her body and she slumped over, shooting Balin a grateful smile. "Oh thank the stars," she gasped quietly. "I'm pretty sure Thorin would have me roasting over a spit before I managed to knock him a good one anyway." She hadn't meant the comment to be heard, but a chuckle to her left showed someone had caught it.

Looking up she met Bofur's eyes. He smiled reassuringly and called, "Don' worry yer pretty little head. He'd have to fight 'is way through quite a few of us first before hurtin' yeh."

"Oh? And would you be one of the brave but foolish souls that dared protect me against your king," she asked sardonically, standing to wander over and join him.

"Lass, I'd be first in line."

They grinned at each other for a long moment, just enjoying the rare respite from weary travel. Tomorrow they'd be back on the road, but for tonight they'd take what happiness they could find.

* * *

Ugh. I cannot for the life of me figure out how to write Bofur's accent.


	3. Go

Hello all! My thanks and all the interwebs to everyone who reviewed, favorites, and followed; you guys are awesome. This is my interpretation/rewrite of the infamous cave bit (also known as Bilbo's "I'm an arse" and Bofur's ridiculously lovely kicked puppy scene). I did my best to pin down their personalities, so any pointers or opinions would be greatly appreciated!

Without any further blathering, here's the next installation of my little drabble collection, unbeta-ed and written at two a.m. once more. Enjoy. :)

* * *

The deep snores of the exhausted echoed through the small cave. Two pair of bright blues eyes flicked open to dart around warily. A hobbit raised it's- his- head then sat up quietly. He wrapped up his worn bedroll hastily and stuffed it into his rucksack. When a small hand wrapped around his wrist he jumped, inhaling sharply.

The hand was attached to another hobbit, who was glaring up at him from her makeshift bed. _"What are you doing,_" she mouthed silently.

_"Going home. I don't belong here, Elsa,"_ he mouthed back miserably.

_"Maybe so, but we can't leave now! It's storming, in case you hadn't noticed, and the path back to Rivendell was destroyed. Go back to sleep."_

_"No. If I wait 'til morning the boys will try to stop me. I don't want to... Don't want to see them..."_ He coughed uncomfortably and she patted his arm.

_"Are you sure about this, Bilbo?" _He nodded_. "Then let's go. What? I'm not letting you go on your own."*_

He started to protest. "_Er, what? I thought you wanted adventure. This trip was for you, never me."_

_"No, this trip was for you to prove to yourself that you're a Took as well as a Baggins. Besides, d'you really think that wandering through the mountains and getting chewed on by orcs is more important to me than you are? Twit."_ She smacked a finger against his nose affectionately and packed up her things quietly. "_Ready_?"

"Thank you," he whispered, barely audible.

The two hobbits padded noiselessly towards the cave entrance, stepping over their sleeping companions. Frigid mist gusted in to splatter on Elsa's face and she moved a little to the side to shelter Bilbo (a pointless effort, since she was no larger than he was and therefore a rather unimpressive shield). His teeth had already started to chatter. They had almost reached the cavern's threshold when a voice hissed to their left, and Elsa squeaked in a rather un-Tookish way as Bilbo grabbed her wrist.

"Where do yeh think you're goin'?" Bofur scrambled to his feet from where he'd sat whittling against the wall.

"Damn. Forgot about the watch," Elsa muttered. Her brother's fingers twitched around her arm. He slid his hand down into hers and squeezed quickly, signaling her to let him do the talking. "Back to Rivendell," he answered the dwarf truthfully.

"No, no, yeh can't turn back now, you're part of the Company. You're one of us, both of ye" Bofur pleaded. His brown eyes shone with earnesty in the low light.

"I'm not though, am I? Thorin said I should never have come, and he was right. I'm not a Took, I'm a Baggins, I don't know what I was thinking. I should never have run out my door." Bilbo's voiced was strained; he glanced at his sister and sighed unhappily.

Bofur turned to Elsa but she shook her head. "Wherever he goes, I go. I'm sorry."

Understanding flickered across the dwarf's face. "You're homesick; I understand." The female hobbit felt Bilbo stiffen beside her.

"No, no, you don't, you don't understand!" Her brother snapped. "None of you do - you're dwarves. You used to - to this life, to living on the road, never settling in one place, not belonging anywhere." Bofur's face fell mournfully. His expression was something of longing and heartbreak, and betrayal. "I- I am sorry, I don't-" Bilbo apologized.

Elsa elbowed him roughly- the universal signal meaning 'shut up you ninny'- and when he looked beseechingly at her she sighed. "D'you want me to translate?" Without waiting for an answer she met the dwarf's gaze.

"What he means to say," she began slowly, face screwed up in thought, "is that we aren't like you. We're hobbits from the Shire. We've lived in Bag End all our lives; we have a place to call home. You, well, you don't. But more importantly... This quest means something more to you than I think we can understand. Against all hope your company is fighting for something more precious than gold: a home. from what I understand some of you have never even seen Erebor, but it means more than life to all of you. You have a purpose, a drive to your lives, and I don't. We don't." She sighed unhappily.

Looking like he'd been struck Bofur opened his mouth to- To what? To protest? To mutter some well-meant but hollow platitude? Or worse, to agree with her and tell them to leave? Elsa honestly didn't know what the miner would say, and it terrified her. Her hand shot up to stop him from speaking, almost striking his face and they both flinched; in the dark she hadn't realized how close they were all standing.

Bilbo grasped her wrist again, and she took the strength he was silently offering. "I wanted to help- I still do- but all we've done so far is been burdens to you. Thorin may be an arse, but he's just doing what's best for his people. And... he's right."

"We shouldn't be here," Bilbo said softly.

A tense moment passed. "You're right about one thing at least. We don't belong anywhere," Bofur replied softly. Brother and sister tried to disagree but he continued. "This is our quest, and we cannot ask ye to risk your lives for us. The dwarf smiled sadly but fondly at the two hobbits. "I wish you all the luck in the world. I really do." He rested his large hands on their shoulders in farewell. Elsa's breath hitched in her throat. Before she could stop herself she'd stepped forward and thrown her arms around Bofur's middle. Bilbo was pulled along and crashed into them.

"Thank you," Elsa whispered into the other's jacket, the only one of the Company who had fully accepted the Bagginses. He said nothing but enveloped both hobbits in a warm hug.

A long moment passed. Bilbo and Elsa drew as much comfort from their friend as they could. Finally Bilbo patted Bofur's arm and pulled away. "Elsa. The watch will change soon. It's time to go."

She took a step back and nodded. "Right." All of a sudden it was hard to breathe. She didn't want to leave. This rag-tag group of wanderers had invaded her house, demolished her pantry, terrorized her brother (though unintentionally), and caused her nothing but grief, but she loved them. Both of the hobbits did. They'd become family, and Elsa couldn't shake the feeling that she and Bilbo were abandoning them in a time of need.

Just moments before she'd been the strong one, the older sister that kept control of the situation for her little brother; right now she couldn't even think straight. She needed to keep her head. For Bilbo, she told herself.

Elsa swiped at stinging eyes and straightened up, steeling herself for goodbyes, but they never came. Bilbo and Bofur were staring down at her brother's sword, which had begun to glow a vivid blue through its scabbard.

"What's that?" Bilbo's face went slack with horror and cold fear stabbed through Elsa. Then everything was falling and she knew no more.

* * *

Okey dokey lokey! Please review. :)


	4. Rules

Edit: Fixed some spacing and removed a few pointless lines.

* * *

"Master Balin?"

The voice was soft but familiar, and the elderly dwarf turned to smile kindly at its source. "May I join you," Elsa asked quietly.

"Of course lassie." Balin was seated on the end of a fallen tree, and the hobbit sank to the ground beside him. The sounds of the Company setting in for the night echoed across their campsite. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"Hmm? What makes you think I'm here for any reason but enjoying your company?"

Her companion chuckled. "My dear girl, I've lived too long not to know a curious face when I see one. You're not too hard to read, either."

Elsa smiled sheepishly. "I do have a question..." Balin's eyes twinkled and he nodded for her to continue. "Earlier today I overheard something, and I don't know what it means. It's in a book I read many years ago as well, and I thought it must be a common expression, but... I don't remember ever learning what it means." She looked up at him for guidance.

"I'll be needing a bit more to go on than that," the dwarf prompted.

"Well... It's an expression in dwarvish, and I know your people are very careful to keep your secrets from the other races of Middle Earth. So I guess I'm wondering two things. The first is whether or not a hobbit can know what this- what the saying means, and the other would be what it means. If I can know, that is," she finished.

Balin's expression was guarded but he was still smiling; that put the halfling a bit more at ease. "If I remember right, the phrase was..." Elsa struggled to twist her tongue around the guttural Khuzdul words. "'Unal taerin.'"

The old dwarf made a low sound of surprise. He pulled out his pipe and lit it, leaning back to regard the little hobbit thoughtfully. "I suppose there's no reason not to," Balin mused. "I can tell you what the words would be in your tongue, but some might consider it inappropriate to tell a non-dwarf what it truly meant."

"What what meant?" She jumped at the familiar voice and glanced over her shoulder in alarm. Ori, Bifur, Kili, and Bofur had joined them: the scribe to soak up any knowledge that Balin could provide, Bofur and Kili to entertain themselves, and Bifur to... Actually, Elsa wasn't really sure what Bifur did, in any situation. Bofur stood just behind her, smirking, misinterpreting her shock.

"Our hobbit was just asking me what 'unal taerin' means." Ori's excitement visibly died down as the youngest member of the Company stood to leave, mumbling something about adolescent lasses and dishes to wash. Bofur had turned a strange shade of green and dropped heavily to the ground; Elsa studied him curiously but he stared unseeingly at a tuft of grass.

Balin chuckled and clapped a hand on the hatted dwarf's shoulder. "Directly translated, 'unal taerin' means 'soul love.' The saying is well known to every dwarf." The archer made a noise of recognition and flopped down on his stomach to listen.

Elsa chewed her lip as she digested the new piece of information. She did vaguely remember that the book she'd found the phrase in had been a romance, but that hardly fit the conversation she'd heard that morning.

* * *

She'd been returning to camp.

Never a morning person, Dori had silently handed her the breakfast dishes and gestured her towards the trees. Assuming there was a stream nearby Elsa had set off in the direction he'd pointed. Sure enough, within a five minute walk from where the Company had stopped for the night was a small brook. It was only two feet at the deepest point with large, flat rocks that interrupted the flow, making it the ideal spot for a hobbit to perch and clean a few bowls.

The water was cool and clear and she sat enjoying the morning for a short while. April's light showers had faded into the green beauty of May; the sun was shining, birds chirped to each other gaily, and Elsa enjoyed the peace as time slipped away.

A distant murmur of voices brought her back. They- at least, she thought there were two- were too quiet to understand, but their tone was clear enough: whoever it was had been arguing. Gathering the dishes Elsa crept towards the sound, silent as only hobbits can be. Peeking around a tree the halfling could see two bulky figures a few yards away. They were crouched and hovering over something on the ground but even from a distance Elsa could make them out as dwarves, specifically Bifur and Bofur.

Apparently the older dwarf had said something insulting just before she had shown up; Bofur was gaping open mouthed at his cousin, frozen in surprise. A long moment crept by with no reaction from any party. Bifur asked something in Khuzdul to which Bofur shook his head hurriedly.

"What? No. Don't be daft," he exclaimed. Bifur barked out another phrase, waving an arm towards camp in emphasis. His companion snorted and looked away. "Unal taerin? I'm not a child anymore." Bifur replied angrily and smacked his arm. "Yeh can't expect me to..." He ducked to avoid the other's wildly gesticulating hands. "I don't care. It doesn't matter. Some just do it different. And I can't-" Even from a distance Elsa could tell that what Bifur growled out next was profane.

"I am happy, yeh fool. We're still close. Closer than yeh know. I've still got you and Bombur." He sighed. "Besides, I couldn't ask that. That's no kind of life for an outsider, 'specially one so fragile. And yeh of all people should understand family ties." In one last attempt Bifur's hand twitched in a question to which Bofur shook his head. "I know. But I'll heal." The older dwarf clasped his cousin's arm in sympathy before rising to return to camp.

Elsa hid a moment longer, but her friend sat in silence. She wanted to join him but the sounds of the nearby Company were growing louder. It was time to leave. With one last glance at the despondent figure on the ground she slipped away to find Balin.

By the time Elsa had reached the temporary camp the ponies were packed and saddled. Dori raised an eyebrow when she returned the bowls but said nothing about her long absence. Bofur appeared beside his brother just as Thorin ordered the Company to mount up, and Elsa had spent the rest of the day in contemplative silence.

* * *

Kili's voice rang in her ears and interrupted her memories.

"Why couldn't Miss Baggins know? She's practically a dwarf by now anyway! Certainly smells like one, anyway." The hobbit kicked him and he snickered. "Besides, you won't shout it from the rooftops or anything, right Elsa?"

"No, of course not, but I wouldn't want to offend anyone. If it's that private..."

"Oh come on, Balin. It's not that much of a secret. And she's one of us now. Isn't she Bofur?" Kili threw a companionable arm around the other dwarf's shoulder, but Bofur just mumbled something vaguely positive.

"Oh all right," Balin grumbled good-naturedly. "But if all of Middle Earth is spouting Ancient Khuzdul by next week I'm holding you two personally responsible." The young Durin grinned wickedly at Elsa's disgruntled expression.

"I'd never..." She huffed dramatically. Out of the corner of her eye she was watching Bofur, hoping to see some sort of reaction. It was unnerving to see the normally cheerful dwarf looking so pained. As Balin shifted into a more comfortable position in which to share his story, Bofur was glancing around nervously, seeming desperate for a distraction. Frowning Elsa slid towards him a few inches and rested her fingers on his wrist.

"Are you alright," she asked quietly. He just looked at her hand as if it he'd never seen one before. "Bofur?"

He coughed thickly. "Yes, fine lass."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude, I know your culture is none of my business-"

"Don't be ridiculous, it's fine," Kili countered grandly as though he were doing her some great service. Elsa rolled her eyes and ignored him.

"Are you sure?"

"No, no, it's fine," Bofur said hoarsely. Clearing his throat he mussed up her and Kili's hair like they were children. Without thinking she stuck out her tongue and got a mouthful of hair, much to Kili's amusement.

Bofur nodded at Balin. "Go on and tell her a story, 'afore these ruffians try to skin me." His smile was back and the tension was defused. Balin smiled back knowingly.

"Alright you two, settle down." The old dwarf relit his pipe and began to speak.

"The speech of men would be almost unrecognizable to one that lived in the second age, as would that of orcs, trolls, or goblins. Such short-lived races change their words to suit the times. Even the eternal tongue of the elves has evolved over the centuries. But the language of the Naugrim is as unalterable as the mountains themselves. Few words have been added and none forgotten. One of the oldest and most well known of our expressions is 'unal taerin'. As I explained earlier, it means soul love. The other half of a person's being, so to speak."

Balin paused when he noticed the hobbit's brow crease. "I'm not sure I understand," Elsa said. "It means true love, that bit makes sense, but... And I'm sorry to be so blunt, but why would that be such a closely guarded secret? I'd think most people know what a soul mate is."

"Ah, but it doesn't just signify love, not as you think it." At this Elsa was terribly confused, and Kili was grinning from knowing something the halfling did not. "Now," the battle-hardened dwarf continued, "from what I understand the younger races can love many times in their lives, from childhood until death. Correct? This is not true of dwarves. We have four types of love in our lives.

"The love of our people is simple. It is what's driven Thorin, as well as the rest of us, to embark on this quest. We fight for our home, our pride, and the survival of us all.

"The love of beautiful things should be obvious even to a hobbit, enthusiastic as you are of life's simple pleasures. Dwarves enjoy them too, but no material object brings us near the happiness of gold.

"Love of family is clear, of course. Any mother will fight fiercer than any dragon for her children. I think the two of you know that better than most of us." Elsa nodded solemnly; at her side Kili's eyes had gone hard.

"The last type..." Balin sighed wistfully. "The last type is love of the heart. For a dwarf anything else pales in comparison to it."

"Tell her about the old legend," Kili prompted.

"Yes, yes. Now, Elsa. No one really knows the truth of the matter, but we have a story that we tell our children to explain the subject. I haven't heard it in years, but it goes something like this.

"When Aule created the dwarves, he gave them a burning desire to create handsome things. For many years his people delved deep into the earth, shaping near anything imaginable from the precious metals and gems they found. Together with the god the dwarves worked to perfect their craft, and it brought them great happiness.

"But as time passed the minds of the everlasting Naugrim grew heavy with an emptiness that no object could fill. Aule saw the melancholy of his people. 'Why do you sigh so sadly,' he asked them. 'Why do your golden halls no longer echo with song or your art with passion?' The dwarves had never wanted for anything and could not answer their god. 'Our hearts are heavy with a desire we can not name,' they told him. 'Even the finest work from the most skilled of craftsmen invokes nothing in us.'

"After some thought their maker realized the source of their plight. The dwarves fashioned beautiful things each day but had no connection to their fellows. In his haste to create life Aule had forgotten the ties of companionship that bound every living thing, but hadn't filled the need they still felt for it. The god returned to the home of his people to present them with an offer. He would split each soul in half upon creation. The two halves of the spirit would search for each other, meeting again and again for all time, trying to be one once more. That feeling of wholeness would be called love and would be stronger than any iron the Naugrim would every forge. Aule would only do this, however, in exchange for the dwarves' immortality. The souls would be pass on and be reborn until the world's end, forever losing, seeking, and finding pure joy.

"The skilled craftspeoples agreed, sacrificing their deathless days. They called this choice and the course that followed 'soul love.' In his last message Aule told his chosen people how to find their one mates. 'Each dwarf,' he said, "will be born with a sign leading his to his unal taerin. Some will be marked and others will know their beloved's face. A few will hear the voice of the other singing to them in the night, and some will be drawn together from the pull of the unknown. You will know your soul when first you see them.' With that the god left the dwarves to find their ways in Middle Earth, and has not been seen again since.

"Do you see now lassie? We only love once in our long lives, if at all. A dwarf without his love is doomed to live a miserable life, and when one half of the soul passes the other soon joins.

"Some never find their mate. It is a lonely existence but not one without hope, as we all understand that the hardships of this life are but a single cycle of our time here. We know that we are never truly alone."

Balin leaned forward and rolled up his sleeve. Detailed across his inner wrist was an intricate tattoo; it was an amalgamation of delicate lines woven through two thick lines of what were presumably dwarvish runes. Elsa studied them in interest but couldn't make heads or tails of the writing. Whatever it said, the tattoo was strong and elegant, a truly beautiful design. She didn't turn to investigate the noise but loud whispers could be heard from across the campsite. The speakers in question seemed to be rather offended by the conversation between hobbit and dwarves.

"The signs that lead us are generally a rather private thing, discussed only between lovers or close family members," the old dwarf explained. "Some might see me showing you my wrist as an improperly private gesture to be done around so any."

Elsa looked thoughtfully at her teacher. "You said before that soul love isn't exactly love as it would normally be defined. What does that mean? Is the bond always between... romantic partners?

"No." To her surprise it was Fili that answered. He'd wandered over to join his brother and had caught the very end of the tale. The blonde rested his large hands on Kili's shoulders. "Usually, yes, but not always. Siblings can bond, too. Every once in a great while relatives will share a love, or the age difference will prove too large for anything other than platonic care. In fact" he asked his brother, "wasn't Gurda's unal taerin quite a bit older?"

"197 to her 52, and a distant cousin to boot. But Lian's mate was a cousin too, and they're both alright."

"What happens if the tie between family members is romantic," Elsa wondered. "Or if they're both the same gender? Is it considered unnatural?"

"That sort of family love happens," Balin replied slowly, "though rarely enough to be something of a grey area." He gaze shifted to the brothers before him. Fili's smirk had faltered. Kili placed a hand over his brother's and was staring stonily at Elsa while Balin continued. "Not everyone is comfortable with such things, but unal taerin is a sacred thing and thus never looked down upon.

"As for your other question... Less than a third of our race is female. If we only fell in love with those that could bear our children, then too many of us would lead miserable lives." Elsa was suddenly aware of two dozen piercing eyes on her. "Soul love is what we search for from near infancy. It is more important to us than life and worth dying for. No matter how it manifests, no dwarf would reject their other half." With that Balin settled back on the log, done with the tale.

The hobbit turned to Thorin's nephews with a question on her tongue, but the fierce look in Fili's eyes as he gripped his brother's shoulder was the unspoken answer. "We've known since Kili was born," he said firmly, tone daring criticism, but he'd get none from Elsa. If love was that rare and powerful to her friends then who was she to judge them?  
She wasn't entirely sure what to say so she just smiled at the brothers. Balin chuckled when they relaxed visibly.

"I think I understand now," Elsa told the old dwarf gratefully. "Thank you for sharing the story with me." He nodded kindly and tapped his pipe with one gnarled knuckle, dislodging the ashes. She rose to prepare for sleep, deep in thought.

A/N: Welp. There's that. I've wanted to write a soul mate/red string of fate story for ages, but this didn't turn out quite like I'd hoped.

I honestly just googled "Tolkien dwarvish" and picked through various dictionaries to get 'unal taerin'.

As always, but for this chapter in particular, all and any concrit is appreciated. Thanks for reading!


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